"Wooden stake. Alright." He forced himself to sound calm, and long centuries of practice made it convincing. It helped to hear his own voice unwavering. He swallowed down horror and made himself cold. Quitting her bedside a brief second.

When he returned, he had a wooden pencil in his right hand. His left came to her face, covered her eyes. His skin was very cold and very rough, almost scaly. "Hush now. This won't take a moment. I won't leave your side." No point counting. Too much warning. He could feel her losing it, in every twitch and shudder of her wrecked body. He pressed briefly at her chest to locate a spot between two ribs: then plunged the makeshift stake down into the unbeating muscle of her heart.